Recovering the Light

Today is March 1st, and the sun is shining. I slept in late after my birthday party last night; I just turned 40. My 7-year-old son, Elliott, says that my favorite thing to do is sleep. I want to be more alive for him. I want to run and jump and dance and play. But I am so tired, all the time. My body aches with the pains of a back and neck growing older, but my heart and soul ache to fly.

Fall is the hardest time of the year for me; it’s been that way since I was first diagnosed with bipolar disorder in August 2001. The light and warmth of summer fade, everything dies, and I shrink into myself as the weather gets colder and the sky darkens earlier and earlier. But now, spring is almost here—I can feel it. I saw daffodils the other day, emerging from the ground.

I told Elliott today that March is my least favorite month. It’s still cold, often rainy and windy. There are no major holidays, no breaks from work. It lasts so long. I lost my friend Caroline on March 15, 2003. March is long and cold and hard. But maybe this year will be different.

In her weekly email newsletter, Brain Pickings, Maria Popova shared an animated short film called Bloom, by Emily Johnstone. It’s “about depression and what it takes to recover the lightness of being.” It shows how a simple act of kindness can spring into someone else’s heart, and then shared with even more people. One single planted flower can become a blossoming garden.

For my birthday party, I put out lots of vases of roses in different shades of pink. I set out candles (battery-operated, but still), all around the living room. I made an amazing playlist on Spotify. I wore a pink cocktail dress and drank Pimm’s Cup. It was all so beautiful. Surrounded by so many wonderful friends, I blew out the 4-0 candles on my birthday cake. Whoosh, the two small flames went out. I wished for the first thing I could think of—peace. This spring, this year, I want to recover the light.